The very last drink Diana made me the Friday before she took her life was an amaretto and amarula on ice. We’d just finished a long conversation about her feeling hurt by my getting a new cat, and we had fully worked through it, as we always did with the tough stuff.
She made me a few drinks, actually, and we just sat together, laughed, touched and loved on one another, and told each other stories about our week. She told me all about her wild night at Rooftop the evening before.
I absolutely loved listening to her stories. She was truly a gifted storyteller.
Tonight, after finally finishing up her apartment, I got home, put everything away, and poured myself the last of her amaretto. I’d do anything to hear her tell me a story – I wish I’d recorded some of them.
I don’t think my life will ever be the same, but I’m determined to hold on to these beautiful memories, and the feelings of being truly cared for, adored, affirmed, treated with respect, and loved unconditionally.